


A Reason to Live

by yanyan_eggs



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Gen, Gender Dysphoria, Post-Time Skip, Trans Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-18
Updated: 2020-07-18
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:53:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25355047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yanyan_eggs/pseuds/yanyan_eggs
Summary: Dimitri takes a bath.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd & Dedue Molinaro
Comments: 2
Kudos: 19





	A Reason to Live

**Author's Note:**

> hello hello! just want to start out with content warnings:  
> \- in-depth descriptions of gender dysphoria though actual talk of body parts is minimal  
> \- light hypothetical violence  
> \- implied/referenced suicidal ideation  
> \- in-depth descriptions of mental illness  
> also worth noting, i myself havent experienced all of the same mental issues dimitri has in this fic, so if you notice any innacuracies or ways that i could make the depictions more sensitive, please do drop a comment and i will edit accordingly!
> 
> and finally. manuela is trans and gives hrt to the trans officers academy students and you can pry this headcanon from my cold dead hands

A thin spray of soap bubbles still floated above Dimitri's feet. The bathwater had long since gone cold, but still he sat alone, fingers and toes slowly pruning, the future king of Faerghus contained entirely within a claw foot tub.

It had been very long since the last time he had bathed. He thought at least he might make himself smell better for his comrades, but he was only half of the equation. The other half, his cape, he trusted no one to wash for him while he bathed, and he didn't want to be without it any other time. The thing probably smelled as bad as he had.

Dimitri's cape was armor more than any breastplate or gauntlet he wore; the sheer mass of the wolf pelts thrown over his shoulders blotted out anything underneath, turning him huge, turning him into something that would strike dread into the heart of any Imperial scum that crossed his path.

Now, stripped of all his clothes, he sat in water full of his old dirt and grime. He had given a few parts of his body a cursory wipe with a bar of soap that now sat drying by his side— still unrinsed were his back, his knees, his arms.

There came a knock at the door. He didn't respond. Another knock.

"Your Highness?"

It was Dedue's voice. Some tiny tension in his heart lifted.

Another knock. Then another. "Your Highness, may I come in?" A long pause. The door opened.

Dedue averted his eyes as he walked in, the very picture of modesty. "Your Highness," he said, a bit of relief in his voice.

"Dimitri," Dimitri tried to say, but no sound left his lips. He didn't care enough to try again.

"Your Highness, I'm happy to see you bathing," said Dedue. "Would you prefer to cover your chest while I'm here...?"

So he intended to stay a while. Out of all people seeing him naked, Dimitri minded Dedue the least. He turned his single eye downward, looking upon himself. Would he prefer to cross his arms over his chest and pull his legs tight toward him, hiding himself? Maybe. But weighed down by water and tiredness, he could barely move. 

Did he want his body to be different, for these feelings to go away, to be able to sit in the bath and not worry about covering his chest before others? Five years ago, he would have in a heartbeat answered yes. But now he could not bring himself to say the same. It was wrong of him to want anything that was not Edelgard's head; to have any desires of his own would be to betray his ghosts' cries for vengeance; to even hope that any release gained from changing his body might match that of driving a lance through Edelgard and listening as the wails of the dead turned to a chorus of cheers... that would be disrespect in the highest degree.

"Whatever," he croaked to Dedue.

"Your Highness," he said, taking a few steps towards him, "you haven't washed your hair."

Dimitri's hair was dry and still dirty. He hadn't ducked his head under the water atall.

"Forgive me," Dedue said, again turning his head away as he dipped a hand in by his feet.

At his words, Dimitri could almost manage a laugh. Silly Dedue, what was there to forgive?

"I'm going to fetch you some hot water," he said, wiping his hand with the corner of a towel. There was no "please," no question about it.

After the door creaked shut, Dimitri's eye faded once again out of focus, and Dedue came back. Dimitri's hands and legs were in a slightly different position, so he must have been gone some amount of time, but his mind had chosen not to commit it to memory. It didn't matter; his thoughts were all the same: hate, hate, hate; wrong, wrong, wrong; guilt, guilt, guilt. 

"Here, Your Highness," Dedue said, taking an empty bucket to bail the old, cold water out of the bath. After a great deal of it was gone, he poured in the hot water, once again warming Dimitri's skin. He threaded his fingers through his hair, separating the matted locks and filtering a few pieces of dirt out from the surface.

There was the sound of a metal chair being gently placed behind the head of the bath, then the firm touch of Dedue's hand pressing perpendicular to Dimitri's brow, needlessly careful around the scar tissue of his lost eye. He was shielding his eyes, Dimitri realized as warm water poured down over his head. 

Dedue's hands wove into his hair in earnest now, massaging water all the way down to his scalp. He pressed his hand again, and poured water again, then once more until Dimitri's wet hair clung to his face and neck. Then, he worked in a bar of fresh-smelling shampoo, using the coarseness of the strands alone to build up a lather. 

For a moment, Dimitri caught himself not thinking of war and violence and hate. In every waking hour, his head was plagued with hate, hate for Edelgard, hate for all Imperial dogs, hate for himself. But towards the gentle hands working now through his hair, all he could conceive of was love.

After rinsing his hair clean, Dedue took to massaging Dimitri's shoulders. Fingers never dipping below the level of his collarbones, he kneaded away the tension he bore each day. One of the many constant pains Dimitri only noticed when brought to attention simply faded. 

He gave a long sigh of contentment. What was stopping him from saying his thanks now, he did not know.

Next, Dedue washed his face and neck with a washcloth. He was far too gentle; even as a child Dimitri had been much rougher washing himself. This was a chance, however, to look steadily upon Dedue's face. His handsome features were so serious, so intent in taking care of him.

Come on, Dimitri willed himself, Feel something. Love. Gratitude. Shyness. Anything but nothingness. He felt a twinge of affection, but this took cursed energy, and his eye slid out of focus thereafter. Back he sunk into the now numb press of guilt and grief.

The next moment, Dedue was lifting Dimitri's elbow high, and carefully, ever so carefully scrubbing under his arm. 

He should be embarrassed, letting his dearest friend and reason for living clean him, like how a servant might clean... well, a king. He should be feeling a lot of things right now.

After scrubbing his arms and legs, Dedue pulled the chair to beside the bathtub, where each could see each other.

His eye rose to look at him again.

"I don't like seeing you like this," Dedue said, words a rushed confession. "So unhappy, it..."

"The old me is dead," Dimitri breathed. "The one with hands only half bloodstained... Edelgard killed that boy, Dedue." There was no variation in the pitch of his voice, barely any emotion at all. He hated Edelgard, hated, hated, hated her, there was nothing else to feel.

"That's not what I mean," Dedue said, running his fingertips through a wet lock of Dimitri's now clean hair. "No matter what you do, you will always be Your Highness Dimitri. And I'll always love and support you."

Dimitri said nothing.

"But..." He cleared his throat softly. "If you won't object, I'm going to speak with Professor Manuela about resuming the treatment she gave you during your time at the academy. You seemed quite passionate about it at the time."

He was. He should thank Dedue, but couldn't bring his lips to form the words.

Later, Dimitri was lying in bed, clad in fresh pajamas. He did not remember putting them on, nor did he remember returning to his room. Pulling his mind like a bowstring, he tried to think back; the last thing he remembered was Dedue closing the bathroom door, bucket in hand; he gathered he must have cleaned the rest of himself after Dedue left; he couldn't remember choosing these pajamas but they were blissfully soft. He let his mind snap back taut.

As he tried to fall asleep through his mind's ceaseless wailing, the hypothetical crossed him of Dedue's position being swapped with his. Thusly, his mistake dawned on him— Dedue had not been waiting on him as his vassal, but taking care of him as a friend. Dimitri would do the same for him in a heartbeat.

At last, a regret unrelated to war and death and hate flashed through his mind: he had probably never thanked Dedue.

"If that is the reason why I must wake up tomorrow morning," he said aloud, voice groggy, "then so be it." His eyes blinked shut, then open, then shut. "I will thank my friend for looking after me..." Even if that meant wanting to live another day.

Dimitri shifted in bed, and the sensation of his own body parts sent a pang of nauseous unease through him. Dedue was right to ask Manuela to continue his treatment. He could rationalize this, he told himself and those who watched him. When driving a lance through Edelgard, he would have advantage if at the same time he did not worry about what his cape was and wasn't covering. 

Like an offering, he gave to his ghosts the last image he wanted Edelgard to see before she perished like a beast, one of himself, lance raised, silhouetted against the sun as if he was delivering the blow straight from heaven. 

It was the same hate that bubbled up in him at this thought, the same monstrous violence that he feared but his ghosts craved. But tonight, it seemed shifted a notch lighter; he had a reason to wake up the next morning, after all. Relative to his usual state of mind, this was peace. Finally, he surrendered to exhaustion, and waited for nightmares to maraud him in his sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> this fic is sad why did you read it


End file.
